


Transgression

by trillingstar



Category: Oz (1997)
Genre: Community: 50kinkyways, Episode Tag, Kink, M/M, Priests, Waxplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-20
Updated: 2010-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's still a priest.  He still believes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transgression

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt #10: candle wax on [50kinkyways](http://community.livejournal.com/50kinkyways) &amp; for [Oz Porn Tuesdays](http://trillingstar.livejournal.com/182013.html). Set in S4, sometime after A Word to the Wise and before A Town Without Pity.
> 
> Thank you to [Rustler](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rustler) for brainstorming this prompt with me, and for the ::mumblemizzle::

  
He can't concentrate on work and the thought of prescribing purity and forgiveness to yet another career criminal sickens him; spitefully, he cancels all of his afternoon appointments. Plucking the collar out of his shirt, he smoothes his thumb over the white plastic tab. It's like punching out on a time clock: he'll always be a priest, just as Glynn will always be a warden, but he finds a sort of peace, the light relief of distance, when he takes it off.

Carefully, he lights one of the candles on the office altar, the smell of sulfur tickling inside his nose, and he watches the wick catch and burn. He shakes out the match and slumps sideways, leaning against the wall, the flickering of the flame hypnotizing him.

He remembers the quaver in his voice, how time slowed and crawled around them when he had turned in his chair to face Keller. He remembers the rasp of Keller's voice and the bite from digging his own fingernails into his thighs as he tried to maintain his composure, even as he provoked a killer. Everyone knows that the guard on the other end of the cafeteria is just for show.

Keller doesn't intimidate him in the same ways that most of the other inmates do; he thinks that Keller charmed his way through life on the outside, getting by on a compliment and a smile. Keller probably only reached for violence when he had to, maybe when he was cornered, like the other day, with frustration evident in his posture and smeared thick on his words. He'd noted, distractedly, how tall Keller seemed, his menacing stance, the white gauze on his left hand stretching around the clench of Keller's fist. He'd wondered how hard Keller hit and how much it would hurt, and he swallowed against the flush threatening to suffuse his cheeks when he realized that his cock was hardening, interested in what might happen next.

Keller had bullied him, for god's sake, and his traitorous body responded the same as it had to the humiliation he endured during the riot. Pushed and kicked, his hands and feet bound, and the taste of blood in his mouth, he had suffered at their hands. The real tragedy came later when he reacted to aggression, when the sound of men yelling and fighting made his heart race, turned his palms clammy with sweat and need. And so he had looked up into Keller's dark eyes, seen the thunderclouds building there, and denied them both their penance.

Keller's parting shot made him quiver. The belligerence, his determined growl, layered with something akin to a plea, and Keller's curse had kept him rooted in his chair for several long minutes, regaining his breath and his self-control. To be purposely vulnerable to a man such as Keller was unbelievably stupid, and he hates himself for the fleeting thought that it was worth it.

All of the ways that it could go wrong - right - _wrong_ \- and he's losing his mind, has to find a way to jolt back to reality, and fast. He blinks. The candle's right in front of him and he doesn't hesitate, knocking the holder over and spilling molten wax onto the back of his hand. The pain shakes his entire body and then spirals into a heavy throbbing heat on his skin. He struggles to not wipe his hand against his clothes. Paraffin candles burn hotter than others. Maybe he'll have a bandage and a sin to match Keller's. He laughs quietly, then forces a stop to the high-pitched sound.

Keller as an altar boy, handling the candles, touching them, setting them in their holders reverently, his fingers twisting the virgin cotton wicks.

He would follow behind, pulling a box of matches from his pocket, the smell of wood and phosphorus when he slides one out, the tremble in his hands as he strikes the match against the strip. It won't light. Keller hovers, reaching out, one hand closing around his, helping to guide the head of the match across the box, and then he doesn't let go, moving their hands together, touching the flame to the tips of the wicks, some sort of hum or quiet grunt emanating from his chest after they're lit.

He'd let Keller do all of that, he wouldn't resist, and in his mind there's a token protest on his lips but Keller looks at him, their faces so close together they're sharing air. Maybe he smiles or says something reassuring, or maybe he's silent, just watching, or maybe Keller doesn't look into his eyes at all but instead glances down, gaze lingering on his crotch and oh, god -

A rivulet of wax breaks free from the drying mass and rolls slowly down the side of his hand, and he's crying out, it hurts, but the pain doesn't detract from the fantasy, instead it intensifies it. He slides down the wall and sits on the floor, ignoring the ache of his hard cock in his pants.

Keller intimidates him because it's not a question of what he wouldn't do, but one of what he would, how far he'd go, and how little resistance he'd give. He already knows what Keller does when he's gotten what he wants, when he's...

When he's done with someone.

Hours later, after he's stuck his hand under the faucet, the cold water unable to penetrate the clash of terror and lust, after Gloria spreads ointment on the burn and after he's safely ensconced in his room at the rectory, he finds a bit of dried wax on the button of his sleeve, and he picks it off, pushing it around between finger and thumb until it warms and spreads.  



End file.
